


Flashbang

by albinosilver



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, feral mccree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-26 20:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7588081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/albinosilver/pseuds/albinosilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which McCree claims Hanzo as his own</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The arrow had embedded itself inside the rabbit's skull, emanating a sharp crack as it was removed. Hanzo wiped blood from its tip with a spare cloth and stashed it back into his quiver. He snatched up the prey in one hand, examining it. The cold had already claimed all warmth from the small body. It was a perfect, clean kill. The kind of kill that left the pelt undamaged, the meat untainted. A habit he had of doing from the hunting trips of his youth. He recalled the days he and his brother would return home, a rabbit in each hand, bickering over who was the better marksman. Hanzo sighed bitterly, a wisp in the frozen air. It was many hunting trips ago that he last saw Genji. 

Wind whistled through the bare branches of trees, sending swirls of white into the sky. Hanzo winced as the sleet cut at his exposed skin. He was not dressed for this weather, and the woods in winter was certainly not a welcoming place, but in a way, it was peaceful. He pulled the sleeve back over his shoulder to shelter the battered dragon. Hanzo came here often between missions, to walk or to hunt. Often, he would come alone. Sometimes, that cowboy, McCree, would tag along. The company reminded him of his brother, much too talkative, but not entirely unpleasant. Hanzo never let him shoot. That gun of his would scare off even a half-deaf rabbit. McCree seemed to respect that, content with just watching and showering the archer with praise. _Bingo. Hell of a shot._ Hanzo hadn't kept tabs on the cowboy. He hadn't made an appearance in months. He might have even been restationed to a different base; Hanzo did not know, or care. 

"You decide to show up now?" Hanzo felt the lingering presence behind him, the unmistakable jingle of spurs. He turned, bow instinctively drawn. McCree was curtained by the heavy snowfall but the familiar red of his serape was clearly visible. Hanzo could immediately tell that something was not right. There was no excited greeting, no loud complaint about the cold. McCree said nothing. He was hunched over. His shoulders heaved. His mouth was parted, panting. Steam seemed to rise from the very heat of his body as he approached.

"Do not come closer." Hanzo warned. 

There was no reaction, as if he had gone unheard.

"McCree!" 

He was close enough now. Hanzo could see his eyes, bloodshot with dark bags underneath. His teeth were bared, a growl rumbling in his throat. There was no second warning, only a thud as an arrow found flesh. McCree howled in pain, clutching at his shoulder. He tore at the embedded bolt, only worsening the wound. Hanzo could see the blood pooling rapidly at his chest. _Had he not always worn some sort of armour before? It was not there now._ He almost felt bad. _No. This can't be McCree. Not anymore._ He told himself, another arrow already notched. Perhaps it was one of those Talon experiments he had heard so much about; whatever it was, he would not hesitate to put an end to it. 

McCree ducked under the second arrow and quickly closed the remaining distance in a swift roll. It was a signature move of his, but Hanzo had not expected to see it again in his current state. Taken aback, the archer did not have time to draw another arrow before he was swept off his feet. Pain seized him as teeth dug into his leg, shredding through fabric and tissue alike. No close combat training could provide any leverage over such an encounter. Hanzo thrashed helplessly. He was thrust even further into the ground as hands closed around his wrists. One, synthetic and crushingly strong. The other dug into him with long nails, drawing blood. The snow too, restricted his movement. It seeped through his clothing, chilling him to the bone. McCree paused momentarily and gazed down at Hanzo. His eyes were soft, brown, familiar, even against the red. _Does he recognize me?_ He snarled, burying his face into Hanzo's neck. Hanzo could feel the prickle of his beard, the elongated canines against his throat, constricting. _No._ The hot breath, the musky scent, it was all overwhelming as his consciousness seeped away. 

\--- 

Hanzo awoke with a start, heart pounding as if he were still in a fight for his life. He put a hand to his throat, relieved to find that it was still intact. He was caked in blood down to his chest. He was numb all over, barely feeling the pain. It was the cold that hit him, as cold as death itself. Hanzo looked around. He lay in a bed of leaf litter, surrounded by rocky walls. It was certainly no man made structure. A cave by the looks of it. Hanzo froze, suddenly aware of the ragged breathing next to him. He slowly shifted to his side for a better look. The serape rose and fell steadily. McCree was fast asleep. Hanzo could still see the arrow jutting out of his shoulder. The end of it was chewed off, likely in an attempt to remove it. His arrows were made to pierce and hook into flesh for maximal damage. _I could just stick him with another arrow right now._ In the darkness, Hanzo felt for his bow. _Nowhere to be found._ He reached for his quiver. _Empty._ He clenched his teeth to suppress anger, disappointment, pain. He should have aimed to kill with the first arrow he fired. Then he would not be here now. A burning sensation hit him as he made an attempt to get to his feet. He bit back a whimper when he saw the damage. Huge gashes ran down his thighs, leaving muscle exposed to the cold air. His movement had only reopened the wounds, a momentary burst of heat in his legs, already cooling into frozen puddles of red on the stone floor. He was not going to walk any time soon. 

His head was spinning. He felt nauseous. He felt like he was going to pass out. McCree was awake now, hovering above him on his hands and knees. The archer lay in silent panic. The pungent scent of blood, sweat and piss swept over him. He lurched back, bracing for a hit. To his surprise, it never came. The cowboy removed his serape and gingerly draped it over Hanzo's chest. It was imminent that the thick fabric harboured the worst of the smell and Hanzo damn near retched. But it was warm, oh so warm. McCree positioned himself gently atop the smaller man, a low rumble forming in his throat. He licked at the dried blood on Hanzo’s neck, leaving him slick with slobber. Hanzo squeezed his eyes shut, trembling uncontrollably. He was unsure of how to feel; _fear, disgust, comfort..?_

He was drifting off again. It was warmth he had so desperately craved. It soothed his wounds, distracted him from everything else. Whatever was to come, at least he wouldn't freeze to death. 


	2. Chapter 2

Heat flooded in between Hanzo's thighs. He groaned groggily as he was shook from his slumber. Something was rocking against him, rubbing raw at his legs. He tried to shove it off, to move out of the way, but it persisted, the weight on his chest, the pressure on his groin. McCree was pressed up against him, rutting furiously. His eyes were still shut, but he was breathing heavy. It was only then Hanzo realized it wasn't just the heat in the fabric between them, it was damp. His mouth fell open in sheer horror. The brute had relieved himself on Hanzo, spraying him in his scent.

“Get off.” Hanzo found his voice. He hammered a closed fist on McCree's back, but it did very little to help his situation. He gave up, looked around. The cave was dimly lit. Faint rays of light poured in from one direction that he could only assume was the entrance. The floor was littered with the remnants of the old McCree. His hat, his oversized belt buckle, his metal chest piece, string of flashbangs, all thrown to the dust. _His gun?_ Hanzo remembered. He wasn't especially handy with a revolver but if he found it, surely he could put a bullet in this beast and be on his way. Unfortunately for him, it just wasn't there. He opted for one of the flash grenades instead, clutching it in his hand close to his body. It certainly wasn't a game changer, but it could prove useful.

McCree stirred, finally ceasing the movement in his lower half. He lifted his head from Hanzo's shoulder and yawned, revealing an impressive set of canines. Hanzo gagged at the stench of his breath and gave him a look of utter disgust. The look earned him a sloppy lick across the lips. There was time after time he felt like he'd vomit, but there just wasn't anything to bring up. Hanzo hadn't a clue how long he'd been out for, but his mouth was incredibly parched and all that remained in his stomach was a dull ache. McCree seemed to sense his weakening state. He pressed an ear to Hanzo's chest, checking his vitals. The cowboy rose to his knees with a jolt, cocking his head out of concern.

Blinking back the exhaustion that threatened to claim him again, Hanzo felt the weight lift from his body, cold air returning to where it had covered. McCree was gone. He had left his serape behind and Hanzo clutched at it greedily, seeking the last of its warmth. _Had he really been left unattended?_ Hanzo pulled himself up onto the cave wall into a sitting position, careful not to irritate his wounds. From there, he edged towards the light. 

The shriek of wind echoed through the cave as he neared the entrance. The snow had not let up and even though it was day, visibility was minimal. He scooped up a handful of snow and brought it to his lips, savoring the cool liquid as it melted on his tongue. It gave him a bit of strength, enough to contemplate his escape. Hanzo knew these woods well. If he could just get to the clearing where he had first been captured, maybe his supplies would still be there, his bow, his arrows, his sake, his comm, so he could call for help. _If..maybe..but what did he have to lose?_

Hanzo dragged himself through the snow. It burned, scraped his hands bloody. The wind was merciless, tearing through whatever stood in its way. At least the cave had provided shelter from that. Hanzo passed by tree after tree, all the same, dark figures in the span of snow that seemed to stretch forever. It was impossible to distinguish between the surroundings, even more so to find anything remotely recognizable. Had Hanzo been wearing himself down in circles, he did not know. His body was stiff from the cold, long past feeling, running on pure adrenaline alone, but it could only last so long. He huffed, breaths shallow. He could feel his heartbeat ringing in his ears. _What had he said about not freezing to death?_ His arms buckled beneath him and he collapsed into the snow. It seemed to grasp at his cold body, drawing him in. 

The crunch of footsteps made its way into his head, even through the constant drone of snowfall. Hanzo was drifting in and out of consciousness. _McCree..?_ He almost wished it was the cowboy, here to take him back to the shelter of the cave, to smother him in his body heat. 

Now McCree was certainly a scruffy fellow, but not this scruffy. Hanzo came face to face with a long snout. Thick, black, wiry fur, dusted with snow. Its eyes were cold, blue, gleaming with intent to eat him, not a shred of kindness. _Yep, that's definitely a wolf._ With the last of his strength, Hanzo pushed himself from the ground. The wolf’s jaws snapped emptily in the air next to him. It snarled, clearly surprised that its prey still had fight left in him. It circled the archer, waiting for another moment to strike. 

Hanzo fumbled through the folds of his clothing, sighing in relief as his hand closed around the stylized cylinder. He whipped the flashbang towards the wolf. It exploded midair in a blinding flash of light, followed by an ear splitting crack. With a whimper, the wolf bolted, disappearing into the trees without so much of a glance back. Hanzo fell back into the snow. _All that, only to die to the cold anyway._ He closed his eyes. _So tired._ Sleep was beckoning him. The only welcoming thing in this harsh reality. He knew he would not wake up if he gave in.

The ground was moving around him. The hills of white seemed to be passing him by. Surely a hallucination formed in the mind of a man nearing his end. He realized the serape was still firmly in his grip. It bobbed up and down as it passed over the snow, trailing behind him. _Red, orange, as warm as the sun itself._

\---

McCree whined eagerly as Hanzo finally opened his eyes. He had spent the past hour licking the archer clean, tending to his wounded legs, worn palms, and paying extra attention to his frozen cheeks. McCree picked up a bushel of small, green berries that he had gathered from outside. He gently lowered them in his teeth to Hanzo's face. Hanzo was in no mood to eat. He didn't know why or how he was still alive. He didn't understand who or what this man before him was. He didn't even know what variety of berries they were. If anything, they looked very much poisonous. Maybe for the best. _Anything to get him out of this hell._ He took a few in his mouth, chewing weakly. They were tough, fibrous, but sweet. He devoured the bunch, feeling significantly better afterwards. 

The next meal McCree tried to share was even less appetizing. Hanzo could see it from where he lay, a small boar, he presumed. Sharp, hooved feet stuck out at awkward angles from the carcass. Its belly was slashed open, ropey innards spilling onto the ground. McCree tore off a slab of meat from its flank, still dripping with blood, and lay it across Hanzo's chest. 

_Well it certainly wasn't the worst thing he'd experienced today._ Hanzo propped himself up onto his elbows, taking the piece of meat in his hands. Several red flags popped up in his head, warning him the dangers of eating raw pork, how it was probably crawling with parasites. _He didn't care._

Chewy, all it really was. The meat itself didn't have a particularly strong taste or smell. Just chewy with the pungent flavour of iron, of fresh blood. McCree was very pleased to see him eat, watching with his head on Hanzo's lap. Hanzo gulped down the last mouthful. It was satisfying, warm in his stomach.

Seeing that he had finished, McCree urged him to lie back down with a gentle headbutt to the chest. Hanzo obliged. McCree was already rutting against him again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter to end it all :^)

Every morning, it was a bushel of berries, the occasional root vegetable, dug from the earth, sometimes, a stack of strange, waxy leaves. Hanzo was not intent on trying raw meat again and McCree had to resort to other sources to keep him well fed. McCree worked very hard at it, often returning with bloodied fingers from the digging. He would curl up on Hanzo's lap, watch him eat, lick him adoringly. It made him happy that Hanzo was feeling better, stronger. The archer’s wounds were healing well, he made sure of it. He braved the cold without his serape day after day so Hanzo could have the comfort of its warmth. He spent hours, days, bringing in sticks, grass, leaves to fabricate a more suitable bed for Hanzo in the cave. Anything to see him comfortable. It made him happy, so very happy that Hanzo was doing well.

Hanzo spent his days sleeping, conserving his energy. At times, he talked to himself, recounting old conversations. McCree offered only company with his presence, never speaking back. Hanzo had given up trying. It was an impact on his mental health, evident when he started missing the old McCree, who only talked too much.

Though he was often left alone, he made no further attempts to escape. It was clear that the cowboy was no threat to him. The way he fussed over Hanzo was almost endearing. He had even gotten used to the strong scent. He figured he probably smelled no better at this point. In the night, they lay entwined for warmth, comfort, _love..?_ McCree adored him. Hanzo no longer tried to resist his advances. He was simply lying low now, buying time until a clear day, until he was fit enough to walk, then he would get out of here. 

One morning, there were no slobbery kisses to wake him up, no breakfast waiting for him. Hanzo stretched in his oversized nest, feeling rather sore from the lack of movement. McCree was still asleep next to him. It was very unlike him to break routine. Hanzo gave his arm a light tap. It was hot to the touch; he pulled away, burning, even. Hanzo rolled him over onto his back, cautious. The cowboy slumped into position, clutching at his shoulder. He was drenched in sweat, his eyes squeezed shut in a pained expression, his teeth clenched. Hanzo pushed McCree's hand away and opened up the collar of his shirt. It stuck to his skin, cracking as it peeled away. The smell was horrific, but he could see it now. Dark veins bloomed across the surface of McCree's chest, stemming from a single source, the broken arrow shaft. The tissue was rotting away at its entry. A black substance seeped from its edges. The smell was worse than anything he'd experienced thus far. Hanzo looked away, gripping the arrow in his fingers. It slid out with ease as the flesh fell apart around it. Thick pus splurted out from the gaping hole it left behind. Hanzo examined the arrow, it had a pretty hefty point, one that he had designed himself. _How had McCree just gone on with this in him the whole time?_ He tossed it to the ground.

The wound looked beyond repairable, at least within Hanzo's capabilities. Even with the arrow removed, there was nothing he could do to stop the infection, or even ease his pain. He felt McCree's hand push into his, momentarily linking their fingers. He pulled away.

Hanzo limped to the entrance of the cave. The storm had finally passed and small songbirds flitted in the surrounding branches. He took up a handful of snow and walked it back to McCree, stripping off the rest of his shirt before lathering it across his chest. The snow melted, near instantly, into a brownish liquid as it trickled to the floor. Hanzo repeated the process several times until the area surrounding the wound was clean. McCree did not once protest, though it had to be uncomfortable at the very least. 

Hanzo examined his patient. He was well built, wide chest, broad shoulders, littered with scars and coarse hair. He looked so wild, strong, like someone who had easily overpowered him. _Surely he would not be able to do that now._ Hanzo noticed a metallic glint poking out from the cowboy’s waistband. _Strange, did he have a prosthetic hip too?_ It came loose in his hand. _The peacekeeper_. McCree whined, reaching for Hanzo, urging him to give it back. Hanzo pocketed the gun. _This changed everything. Having any weapon would significantly increase his chances of getting out of these woods alive._

McCree stared back at him, out of sadness, desperation, silently begged him not to go. _He was already gone._

\---

 

There was a harsh, artificial light, like being caught under the permanent blast of his flash grenade. His head was pounding, flooded with the buzz of machinery, the steady blip of a sensor. _Hanzo..._


End file.
